


One Saturday Night

by flaming_muse



Category: Glee
Genre: First Time, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-20
Updated: 2011-09-20
Packaged: 2017-10-23 22:03:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/255502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flaming_muse/pseuds/flaming_muse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Saturday night doesn’t go as Kurt and Blaine planned.</p>
            </blockquote>





	One Saturday Night

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers: set after 2x22 “New York”

Blaine likes the nights they have dinner at Kurt’s house. It’s one of his favorite parts of the week, for all that it means he and Kurt are surrounded by parents and are given work to do. It's still great. In fact, he finds himself smiling at the cutting board in front of him as he sits at the Hummel-Hudson kitchen table carefully snipping chives into tiny pieces with scissors - _not scissors, kitchen shears_ , Blaine’s internal Kurt-voice reminds him - while Kurt and Carole bustle around making the rest of dinner. They’re putting together some sort of complicated lasagna dish, although Burt had complained earlier that he’d never heard of lasagna having wild mushrooms or goat cheese in it, so now they’re all calling it a casserole to avoid another bitter argument between the Hummel men. Whatever it is, its components smell delicious.

It’s not clear to Blaine exactly why he’s snipping chives, possibly for a garnish, but he doesn’t mind, because it keeps him out of the way and yet in the center of the activity. Carole and Kurt are learning to work together pretty well in the kitchen, and they dance around each other with ease, grabbing the salt or stirring a pot. Sometimes the dancing is literal if one of them likes the song on the radio. Carole makes Kurt laugh, too, though he always looks a little surprised when he does. Burt, like usual, is staying in the living room with the TV until he’s needed, but Finn wanders through and gets smacked by two hands when he tries to snatch something to eat. It’s warm, busy, and kind of noisy, and Blaine loves it. It’s just how he wanted to grow up.

He knows Kurt didn’t have it growing up, either, at least not since he lost his mother, but he does now, and since Blaine has Kurt he has it, too.

“How are those chives coming?” Carole asks Blaine as she walks past, and she smiles at him when he shows her the pile in front of him. “About another tablespoon more, please. Thank you, Blaine.”

“My pleasure,” he replies and gets an approving smile from Kurt from across the room. Blaine feels warm to his core.

“The pasta’s done,” Kurt says. He takes two potholders from the hook and carries the big pasta pot over to the sink with an ease that Blaine tries not to admire too openly, given the company. Still, having a boyfriend who is strong is pretty hot.

“Okay, time to assemble.” Carole takes the sautéed mushrooms from the stove and moves them into a bowl on the counter while Kurt drains and rinses the noodles. When he comes over with the colander, she flashes a grin at him and nudges him with her elbow. “They’ll never know it’s whole wheat,” she says, nodding to the pasta.

“It’s our secret,” Kurt agrees.

Smiling some more, Blaine goes back to snipping, and Kurt and Carole start to put together the lasagna - _casserole_. It's one of the best ways Blaine can think of to spend a Saturday evening.

A few minutes later, just as Finn wanders in again, the phone rings.

“Burt, would you please get that?” Carole calls. “My hands are covered in filling.”

Finn, who is bending to look in the fridge, says, “That’s what she said.” Then he straightens up sharply and looks at the three pairs of eyes staring at him in various combinations of amusement and horror. “I said that out loud, didn’t I? I’m just...” He gestures to the door. “I’m gonna go get my bag and go to Mike’s.”

“I thought he wasn’t expecting you for another forty-five minutes,” Carole said.

“I’ll drive real slow.”

Carole shakes her head and goes back to cooking. Finn seems torn between leaving and eating and eyes the fruit bowl on the table beside Blaine. Finally he comes over and snags an apple.

“They don’t trust you with knives, either, huh?” he says to Blaine, gesturing at his shears.

Blaine opens his mouth to answer but is interrupted by Burt bursting into the room.

“Take off that apron and throw on a skirt and some makeup,” he says to Carole. “We’re going out.”

Carole turns her head, leaving her messy hands hovering over the casserole dish. “What are you talking about?”

“That was Ray. He’s got two extra tickets to Cougarcamp for tonight.”

“The TV show?” Finn asks.

“That’s _Cougar Town_ ,” Kurt tells him.

“It’s a Mellencamp tribute band,” Carole says, and Blaine catches Kurt’s shudder. “They sold out in an hour for the show tonight.”

“It’s _the_ Mellencamp tribute band,” Burt says. “And Ray’s brother has food poisoning, so he’s got two tickets to spare. We’re going.” He comes over to Carole and unties the bow of her apron. “Come on, we’re meeting them for dinner in a half hour.”

“But - “

He pushes her toward the sink with a fond smile. “No buts. Except this one.” He smacks her ass to get her to move faster, and the three boys immediately look away. Blaine thinks it’s sweet, but it’s still weird to see parents acting that way.

She laughs and washes her hands. “Okay, okay. But what are we going to do with all this?” she asks, pushing her hair back and looking at the messy kitchen with its half-finished meal.

“We’ll finish it,” Kurt says, then seems to reconsider. His shoulders sink. “I will, I mean.”

Blaine is about to object that he is perfectly capable of helping if given directions when he realizes what Kurt already obviously has: since Carole and Burt are going out and Finn is going to Mike’s overnight there isn’t even a nominal chaperone in the house. Blaine will have to leave. His heart falls. He wants this evening with Kurt. They don’t get as much time together as they’d like, and Kurt’s house is one of the easiest places to be, despite all of the family around. They only have to worry about not upsetting his parents; they can be as affectionate as they like, otherwise. But now not tonight.

“Great. Thank you,” Carole says, oblivious to the undertones. She pats Kurt on the shoulder and hurries out of the kitchen to change.

“I’m going to put on a clean shirt,” Burt says, heading toward the laundry room.

“Maybe I should have a sandwich before I go,” Finn says to himself.

“Have another apple,” Kurt snaps, and Finn does and wanders off.

Disappointment settles heavily on Blaine’s chest, and he focuses on the chives. He’s sad about losing the time with Kurt, and he’s sad about losing the night in the house. He’ll get over it, but it isn’t what they’d planned.

“Once I put this together, I think it will be able to stand in the refrigerator for a few hours,” Kurt says a few minutes later to the casserole pan. He’s quiet and has that edge to his voice Blaine knows means he’s determined to make the best of the situation. “We could go out. I can bake it after I get back.”

Blaine nods, though Kurt’s not looking at him to see it. “Okay.” Being together is way better than not.

Kurt fusses with a noodle for a few more seconds, then turns his head to meet Blaine’s gaze. “I’m sorry,” he says.

“It isn’t your fault. We’ll figure something out.”

“I don’t want you to go home.”

“I don’t want to go, either.” Blaine stops there, because Burt walks into the room and frowns at him thoughtfully for a second before going over to Kurt.

“Sorry to skip out on your big meal, kid,” Burt says, looking over Kurt’s shoulder at what he’s assembling. “I know you guys were working hard on it.”

“It’s all right. We’ll have it tomorrow.” Kurt shrugs.

Burt makes a noise that could be assent or disappointment. He stands there awkwardly for a moment, his eyes darting between Kurt standing at the counter and Blaine half-turned in his chair at the table.

“We know, Dad,” Kurt says with a hint of a sigh as he lays the last of the noodles on the casserole, sprinkles some cheese on top, and goes to wash his hands. “You don’t want us here alone. We know.”

Burt is quiet for another long moment. “Look,” he says, “it's my house; I get to set the rules. I can tell you guys that you have to go out or Blaine has to go home, but then you’d just have to decide whether or not you’re going to lie to me and sneak back in.”

“We wouldn’t - “ Kurt starts, but Burt silences him with a knowing look. Kurt doesn’t press the point, because he probably is just as aware as Blaine is of how tempting the idea would be. They don’t want to disobey, but the opportunity to spend a long stretch of time alone is so very rare, and chances are nobody would catch them. It’s thrilling and gut-churning all at once.

“You’re good kids,” Burt says to them both. “And you’ll always be kids to me, but it’s not like I don’t remember what I was getting up to, or wanting to, at your age. So.” He takes a deep breath and lets it out, like this is hard for him. “Blaine can stay. You both can stay. He has to be out by your usual curfew, even though we won’t be home by then, and I’m serious about that. I’m also serious that I hope you boys will spend the night watching one of those singing movies and eating that tasteless popcorn like you usually do, but if you don’t, well... I don’t want you to have to plan to lie to me. Just... be smart.” He meets Kurt’s eyes, then Blaine’s, and the challenge in his gaze makes Blaine want to promise him that he’ll never even touch Kurt’s hand again.

Kurt’s eyes are wide as he stares at his father. Blaine knows just how he feels; he can barely draw a breath at the offer. “Really?”

Burt nods. “Go out if you want, but you don’t have to.”

“Thanks, Dad,” Kurt says. His posture is suddenly awkward like his joints have all shifted a few degrees from true, and he takes a tentative step forward before reaching out to hug his father.

Burt wraps his arms around his son without hesitation, and Blaine has to look away. He’s shocked, thrilled, and kind of mortified by Burt’s offer, but he’s also painfully aware of how powerful a moment this is for Kurt and his father and how little chance there is that he’ll ever have the same kind of comfortable understanding with his own family.

“I trust you, Kurt,” Burt replies. “Don’t make me be sorry for it.”

“I won’t,” Kurt promises in a whisper.

When Blaine glances over, Burt is looking at _him_ , and Blaine swallows down his nerves and nods his own promise.

“Okay. Good.” Burt lets go, takes a deep breath, and gestures to the casserole in a clear change of subject. “We’ll have that tomorrow.”

The next fifteen minutes are a flurry of activity that helps put Blaine back on a more even keel. He’s beyond thrilled that he and Kurt get to stay in, but his heart is leaping that he and Kurt get to _stay in alone_ for _hours_. They’ve never had this kind of time before. It’s a gift, but it also makes Blaine feel the weight of Burt’s trust in them. He’s honored but actually kind of terrified that he won’t be seen as being good enough and will never be given the chance again.

Finally, Burt, Carole, and Finn gather their things and leave, and Kurt locks the door behind them, the sound of the deadbolt loud in the now quiet house. Blaine stands at the edge of the hallway and watches the long, rigid line of Kurt’s back. He wonders what to do. Being with Kurt is always easy, but this is new. This should be easy, too, but maybe it isn’t. Maybe it’s awkward. Maybe it’s different. Maybe it’s a source of pressure instead of pleasure to have this time. Blaine feels the enormity of it on his shoulders, on his heart.

Kurt turns after a few seconds, his head held high, and says, “I’m going to put the casserole in. We can have it for dinner.”

“The lasagna,” Blaine says for lack of anything else to say, but without Kurt’s father there to argue it can be a lasagna. Kurt stares at him for a second before breaking into a wide grin.

“Yes, the _lasagna_ , thank you,” Kurt agrees crisply, and suddenly everything is okay. It’s just them. That’s as simple as anything.

Kurt puts the lasagna in the oven, and while it cooks they do what they would have done, anyway. They make a salad, Kurt slices some crusty bread while Blaine plays some more with the salad spinner, and they talk about the usual: music, friends, classes. They’ve been playing an ongoing game about what stars of musical theater they’d cast in which revivals, kind of a theater fantasy football, and they’re still arguing between Patti LuPone or Ethel Merman in _Annie Get Your Gun_ when the timer dings.

“I’ll set the table,” Blaine offers, and Kurt smiles at him as he slips his hands into the potholders and opens the oven door. He grabs the napkins and the silverware and lays them out neatly before going for the glasses. It feels, for a minute, like this could be _their_ house, just the two of them, and it’s both foreign and exactly, wonderfully right. “What would you like to drink?”

“Water, please,” Kurt says as he gently tosses the salad.

“Extra ice.” Blaine adds a few more cubes to Kurt’s glass.

Kurt smiles over at him, his eyes sparkling with delight. “Yes.” He sets the salad tongs against the side of the bowl. “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised you know all of my drink orders.”

Blaine has to pass right by him to get to the sink, and he nudges Kurt’s arm with his own. “I want to know everything about you.”

Kurt doesn’t reply, and when the second glass is full Blaine looks up at him to see why. Kurt’s eyes are dark where they’re focused on Blaine’s face, and his cheeks are a little flushed. He looks pleased. He looks _hungry_. Blaine’s breath catches, and his hands start to tremble. He sets down the glasses with a clunk before he drops them.

“I’m going to kiss you now,” Blaine says and cups Kurt’s face and captures his mouth before Kurt can form a reply. Kurt gasps against his lips and puts his hands on Blaine’s shoulders, his fingers tight enough that Blaine can feel each one individually where it presses into the muscle. Heat flares through him, and he kisses Kurt _hard_ , like he wants to prove a point, though the only point he has is how much he loves Kurt. And they’re alone in the house, so he _can_. He can just hold him close and taste Kurt’s lips and moan with the wet glide of his tongue. They’re _alone_.

But they also have all night, and as much as Blaine feels like he could catch fire from Kurt’s touch he doesn’t have to do it right this very second. So he lets himself drown in Kurt’s kisses for a long, dizzy minute more before pulling back and kissing the corner of Kurt’s mouth, the edge of his jaw, the divot of his upper lip, and countless other tiny places of perfection, which isn’t exactly less exhilarating but is at least less intense.

“Blaine,” Kurt murmurs and draws his thumb up and down the side of Blaine’s throat.

Blaine kisses the soft skin beside his eye. “Mmm?”

“Are we having dinner, or are we doing this?” Kurt asks breathily. “I’m okay with either, but I’d kind of like to know.”

“We can’t do both?” Blaine asks.

“ _Blaine_ ,” Kurt says with a laugh.

Blaine pulls back enough that he can bring the hand Kurt has on Blaine’s throat up to his lips. He kisses Kurt’s palm, warm and soft, and trails his mouth up the inside of each of Kurt’s fingers. Kurt watches him, his eyes wide and his chest heaving beneath his shirt.

“Blaine,” Kurt says again, and this time there isn’t a hint of laughter in the husky, choked word. Instead it’s filled with affection and more than a hint of desperation.

“Let’s have dinner,” Blaine says, because if they’re going to have hours together they should enjoy each other over a meal, too.

Kurt blinks in surprise and curls his fingers into his palm like he’s saving Blaine’s kisses. He shakes his head a little and says, “Okay. But you’re very confusing.”

“Not really. I just like you.”

“You like to confuse me,” Kurt says and steps back.

Blaine finishes up their drinks while Kurt serves them each a piece of the lasagna and carefully arranges salad in a neat pile on the plates. He sprinkles a bit of Blaine’s chive garnish on top of the lasagna with an elegant flare of his fingers. “Here we are,” he says, taking the plates to the table. Blaine follows behind, carrying the basket of sliced bread.

When they’re settled across from each other, Blaine raises his glass of water and says, “To the chef.”

“And the sous-chef,” Kurt replies and takes a sip. Blaine has another moment of displacement where he feels like this could really be their life, and he drinks quickly to cover up just how overwhelming and wonderful it is.

The food smells incredible, and Blaine finds his mouth watering before he takes his first bite. He isn’t disappointed. “This is really good,” he says.

“It’s the chives that make it,” Kurt replies, his mouth straight but his eyes smiling. He slips his foot against Blaine’s under the table, ankle against ankle, just a warm point of contact.

“Obviously.”

They talk as they eat, but Kurt grows increasingly distracted and toys with his salad more than he puts it in his mouth. The easy conversation of earlier slips away. He even allows Blaine’s pronouncement that John Barrowman is the only choice for Frank to go by without comment.

“Are you okay?” Blaine asks when Kurt’s quiet for a few minutes.

Kurt nods and sets down his fork. He folds his hands in his lap.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.” Kurt’s ears, which have been progressively turning more and more pink throughout the meal, are bright red and almost glowing now. He takes a deep breath and looks up to meet Blaine’s eyes squarely. “I’m ready for more,” he says.

“More? But you’ve barely touched your dinner.”

“I don’t mean more dinner, Blaine,” Kurt tells him softly and waits for him to get it.

It takes a minute, and then Kurt’s tongue darts out to moisten his lips, and Blaine flashes hot from head to toe and says, “Oh. _Oh_.”

“It’s okay if you aren’t,” Kurt rushes to say. “Ready, I mean. And it’s not because of tonight, though it’s giving us a place to talk about it, because it’s not something I can blurt out over coffee at the Lima Bean. I just thought I should tell you. That I am. Not for everything, but for more." His shoulder lifts and falls, but he doesn't look away. "When you are.”

Blaine swallows, his mouth dry, and tries to make sense of the world over the deafening roar in his ears like the kitchen table has suddenly moved to the base of Niagara Falls. “You’re ready.”

“Yes.”

“For more,” Blaine repeats.

“Yes.”

“For _more_.” He gestures with his fork in a vague motion, like that could possibly encompass the visions flickering in his eyes of Kurt’s throat and bare skin and shoulders and stomach and legs and the idea of his hands on _Blaine’s_ bare skin and shoulders and stomach and - He feels like someone just knocked the wind out of him. He should probably sit down, except that he’s pretty sure he already is.

“Yes,” Kurt says steadily.

“With me.”

Kurt rolls his eyes and kicks Blaine’s foot under the table. “Yes, with you.” The “idiot” is silent but very clearly implied.

“Sorry, I - yes.” Blaine nods.

“Yes?” Kurt asks, tilting his head and getting that little furrow between his brows that means he’s perplexed.

“Yes,” Blaine repeats.

“I don’t remember asking you a question.”

“Oh.” Blaine puts his elbows on the table and rubs his face with his hands, figuring the lapse in manners is less important than him being able to follow the conversation. He takes a slow breath, pulls himself together, and looks back up at Kurt, who is watching him with a quiet intensity. “I’m ready, too,” he says.

“You don’t have to say that just because I - “

“I’m not,” Blaine assures him. “I’m not. I’ve been thinking about it for a while. I love you, Kurt, and you drive me _crazy_. Of course I want more.”

Kurt colors more and looks torn between being pleased and uncomfortable. “Wanting more and being ready for it aren’t necessarily the same thing.“

“No, I know, and I - “ Blaine tries to find a way to phrase it that doesn’t sound like he’s been waiting like a martyr to Kurt’s timing, because that's not it at all. “I’m never going to be ready before you are, because we both have to want to take another step for it to be right for me. But if you’re ready for more then I am, too, at least this time. Okay?”

“Okay,” Kurt says. He inhales through his nose and then lays his hand on the table, smiling sudden and bright when Blaine fits his palm on top.

“Okay.” Blaine picks up and then sets down his fork, because his meal is far less appealing than his handsome, amazing, really kind of scarily hot boyfriend across from him.

Kurt watches him with a gentle warmth that makes Blaine’s heart leap, and then he picks up his own fork and takes a bite of his lasagna. “John Barrowman, Blaine? Really?” he asks with a smirk.

“What?”

“I know you have some sort of unshakable attraction to him in a long coat, but he chews up the scenery.”

“That works in his favor as Frank,” Blaine says, and they’re off again, back to their usual give and take. There’s a buzz between them as they finish their dinner, though, an extra something that makes every smile sparkle and every touch linger just that much more for Blaine. He doesn’t know if it’s the specialness of the night or the idea of _more_ that’s doing it, but it’s there. It’s undeniable.

Even clearing the table and washing dishes feels exciting and different, their shoulders brushing as Blaine stands at the sink with his hands in the warm suds and gives the clean plates and pans to Kurt to dry beside him.

And then the kitchen is clean. There's nothing else they have to do, and Blaine wipes his hands on the dishtowel a little longer than is necessary, because he doesn't know what happens next. They'd planned on watching _Follow the Fleet_ as part of Kurt's ongoing campaign to convince Blaine of Fred Astaire's superiority over Gene Kelly, but now the evening is open. They can do that, but they can also do… something else. Anything else. It's amazing. It's terrifying. It's actually exceptionally terrifying, which is stupid for something that's so good, but it _is_.

"Blaine," Kurt says softly, and Blaine realizes he's probably been staring at the towel for quite a while.

"Sorry," he replies and looks over to where Kurt is standing across the kitchen.

Kurt shakes his head. "We can watch the movie," he says. There's no disappointment or expectation in his voice, just tenderness. "I'll make popcorn, and we'll watch the movie."

"I don’t - " Blaine can't say that he doesn't want to watch a movie with Kurt, because if that's all they do he'll be perfectly content. The other option is filled with the unknown, and Blaine likes to be prepared for things. He's totally unprepared. But it's _Kurt_. It's Kurt.

"I'll make popcorn," Kurt says and takes a few steps toward the cabinet where it is stored.

That doesn't feel right, either, and Blaine blurts out, "You just want me to give in and agree with you about Astaire."

Kurt stops with his hand on the cabinet pull and meets his eyes squarely. "No, I just want you to be happy."

Kurt says it so matter-of-factly, so calmly, that Blaine can't do anything but believe him, and his nerves vanish in a rush. He's only left with love. Love and anticipation.

"I don't want popcorn," Blaine tells him.

"Oh?" Kurt searches his eyes.

"I don't." Blaine steps over to him and reaches out for his hand. Kurt meets him halfway like he always does, and they smile at each other a little.

"Well," Kurt says after a moment. "I don't want to watch the movie without popcorn."

"No," Blaine agrees.

Kurt ducks his head, looking at Blaine through his lashes in a way that would be coy and flirty if only Kurt knew how to do that deliberately. Instead it's just a sign of his own nerves. But he's braver than Blaine, because he asks, "Would you like to - I mean, we don't have to, but do you want to go up to my room?"

Kurt's room. Kurt's room, with Kurt's _bed_ , and there's no one home, so they can close the door, though they don't have to, because there's _no one home_. There is no part of that that doesn't sound wonderful.

"Yes," Blaine says and holds on tight as Kurt leads him upstairs.

Kurt does shut the door behind them, and he looks a little pale as he removes his shoes, but he steps in close when Blaine's shoes are also off.

"It's okay," Blaine tells him, cupping Kurt's jaw.

"I know." Kurt dips his head the inch it takes to bring their mouths together, and then they're kissing.

It all makes so much more sense when they're kissing. Kurt's lips are soft but eager, and Blaine wants to kiss them _forever_. So he does, or at least he makes a start on forever, and Kurt kisses back, sweetly at first and then harder and deeper. One of the best things about kissing Kurt is how responsive he is, because just like with everything else there's no doubt about what he feels or where he stands. And right now he's really, really enjoying kissing Blaine back.

Blaine wraps his arm tight around Kurt's slim waist and gets lost in the taste of his mouth, the feel of his body. It's perfect. It's easy. But after a while he becomes aware that it's really not enough. He's restless and achy. He doesn't want to touch the soft fabric of Kurt's shirt; he wants to touch _Kurt_.

"Can I - ? Can we - ?" He tugs at Kurt's shirt where it's tucked into his jeans.

"Yes," Kurt breathes, and he keeps a hand on Blaine's hip when Blaine steps back and works at the buttons down Kurt's chest. He looks up after a particularly difficult one at Kurt's stomach to find Kurt smiling at him. His eyes are fond and heated at once, and Blaine redoubles his effort, finally parting the cloth and pushing it off of Kurt's shoulders, leaving him beautifully bare.

Blaine goes for his own shirt, but Kurt stops him with a soft, "No, let me." He pulls Blaine’s shirt over his head with surprisingly steady hands, and for once it’s not a big goal in itself but just another step on the way, which makes the press of their skin together as they step in close just that much better. Kurt's body is so strong and lean and so _warm_ against him, and Blaine gasps at having _so much skin_ right there to touch.

"You feel so good," Kurt murmurs, skimming his hands up Blaine's back, and Blaine hums his agreement as he kisses along Kurt's shoulder. "Oh, god." Kurt turns his head to kiss at Blaine's throat.

"I'm not going to be able to stand up much longer if you keep doing that," Blaine says, already dizzy with the heat from Kurt's mouth.

"So let's stop standing up."

It takes Blaine a second to process what Kurt means, and then he is more than happy to take the hint. "Bed. Bed? Bed." He walks Kurt back toward the piece of furniture in question as Kurt laughs against his mouth.

"Yes, Blaine, it's a bed."

Blaine gives him a gentle push, and Kurt falls willingly onto the covers. He edges up so his head is on the pillows, and Blaine stares at him for a breathless moment, taking him in from his long legs in their tight jeans up his flat stomach to his firm, pale chest, and his perfect face, and then Blaine doesn't want to look anymore. He wants to touch.

"Come here," Kurt says, still laughing with his eyes.

"Okay." Blaine slides in beside him, both of them rolling onto their sides to face each other, and then they're kissing again, wet and open-mouthed. Kurt's hands are in his hair, on his arms, his stomach, and down his back to his waist to pull him in hard. Even this much is new, taking off clothes and giving into their desire without thinking they'll have to stop soon, and Blaine rocks into him, the pressure on his erection so good that the hair on his arms stands on end.

"Oh," Kurt breathes and hooks his leg around Blaine's to keep him close. "Oh, like that."

Panting for air, Blaine moves with him, unable to do anything but sink into the rhythm. His skin prickles where Kurt touches him. His eyes shut when Kurt's mouth moves from his lips to his jaw, beneath his ear, down his neck. He grabs one of Kurt's belt loops with his finger as he palms Kurt's hip and feels them move together. It's the best thing he's ever experienced, this balanced give and take of their bodies. He could come from this. He could come just _thinking_ about this.

"God, Kurt, I want you so much," Blaine gasps as Kurt sucks at _that spot_ on his throat and his arousal spikes higher.

"What do you want?" Kurt asks, slowing his kisses.

"You. You."

Kurt lifts his head and pulls away just enough that Blaine opens his eyes. "You have me, Blaine. What do you want?" he says softly. It's an offer. It's the best offer in the world.

Blaine’s mouth goes dry as he looks down Kurt's body to the prominent bulge in Kurt’s tight jeans, the one he has been trying not to focus on for months now, and he looks back up into Kurt’s eyes and asks, “Can I touch you?”

Kurt swallows, and though his expression is a little tentative his hand is steady on Blaine’s shoulder as he nods.

So Blaine kisses him hard and then slips his hand down Kurt’s stomach to cup his erection through the denim, and if it’s driven him crazy being pressed against his hip over the course of their relationship that’s _nothing_ compared to the way the world swoops and spins when he feels its heat beneath his palm.

Kurt sucks in a sharp breath, his fingers digging into Blaine’s shoulder, and he makes this little choked sound against Blaine’s mouth that goes straight to Blaine’s own groin.

“Oh my god, Kurt,” Blaine whispers. He is touching not just another man’s erection, which is a life-changing enough event by itself, but it’s _Kurt’s_.

“I know.” Kurt’s hips flex the tiniest amount, and Blaine wonders if the way the room is swaying around him is what an earthquake feels like.

Blaine wants to kiss him. Blaine wants to pin him to the bed and just _touch_ him. Blaine wants to growl against his mouth, suck kisses down his throat, and feel him. God, he wants to _feel_ him. But he can’t make himself move because it all feels so precarious and unreal and _insanely hot_ , and so instead of the moan that’s trapped in his chest he makes this awful, pitiful, hysterical squeak.

“What’s wrong?” Kurt asks, which is the stupidest question _ever_ , because Kurt feels _so good_ that Blaine could have the rest of his body amputated if only he could keep his hand just where it is.

Blaine shakes his head and wishes he could find a way to move his hand, because he’d really like to explore just how long and hard Kurt actually is beyond the confines of his palm. “Nothing,” he says, still sounding hysterical.

Worried, Kurt lifts up a few inches onto his elbow. “Blaine? We don’t have to - “

“I’m gay,” Blaine blurts out. “Oh my god, I’m so gay. Gay gay gay.”

Kurt blinks at him, and then the corner of his mouth starts to turn upward from its worried frown.

“No, really,” Blaine says. “I’m really, really gay. I mean, I knew I was, but oh my _god_ , Kurt, you feel _so good_ to me.”

Kurt starts to grin, then to laugh. He buries his face in Blaine’s shoulder, clutches at his arm, and _laughs_.

It takes Blaine a second, and then he begins to laugh, too. He’s embarrassed and yet so, so relieved that Kurt understands him enough not to be upset. He presses his mouth against Kurt’s hair and laughs at how ridiculous the moment is.

“If we’re stating the obvious,” Kurt says, his voice choked but delighted, “then I am, too. You have _no_ idea.”

“That’s good. That’s really good,” Blaine tells him. It’s not like he doubted either of them, but knowing that he’s so turned on by touching Kurt and vice versa is _incredible_.

Kurt laughs a little more and says, “You know, I think we can count tonight as a success already. Look how much we’ve learned.”

"You're right." Grinning, Blaine brushes a soft kiss along the outer curve of Kurt’s ear. “I also know I love you.”

Kurt lifts his head, his smile as wide as Blaine’s ever seen it, and says, “I love you, too.” He leans in to touch his mouth to Blaine’s, and that’s enough. Blaine’s paralysis breaks, and now there’s no choice but to move.

He kisses Kurt slow and dirty and then gives into the urge to squeeze around Kurt’s erection. Kurt makes the best noise ever, a desperate, surprised groan, and then kisses him harder as Blaine slides his hand from root to tip, feeling his length, his thickness. He feels _amazing_ , and Blaine is filled with aching, formless, endless _desire_. For him, for anything, for everything with him.

“So gay,” Blaine whispers and is surprised by the hoarseness of his own voice.

“Yes,” Kurt gasps back, and when Blaine starts to rub slowly Kurt whimpers deep in his throat and grabs hard onto Blaine’s shoulders.

Kurt makes the _best_ noises, and Blaine presses his mouth to Kurt's jaw to get closer to them as he moves his hand. He doesn't have a plan, but Kurt doesn't seem to mind; he just groans as Blaine strokes and explores this amazing new territory. He's painfully hard in his own jeans, but he'd rather be touching Kurt than himself. Nothing could possibly feel better than this.

"You feel so good," he murmurs against Kurt's sweat-damp skin, dizzy with how Kurt's hips hitch and twist with the movements of his hand.

And then Kurt takes Blaine's hand, pushes it away, and rolls onto his back, gasping for air. "Too good. Too good," he says, clinging to Blaine's hand. He stares up at the ceiling, looking shocked and desperate at the same time.

Blaine's fingers twitch of their own accord, empty, and he tries not to feel disappointed, because he was really enjoying making Kurt go to pieces.

Kurt takes a few long breaths, pulling himself together, and turns his head toward Blaine. His eyes are so blown there's almost no color around his pupils. He searches Blaine's face and then gives a surprisingly smug grin. "I think it's my turn." He trails his hand down Blaine's stomach to linger just above the waistband of his jeans.

It takes Blaine a second to figure out that Kurt's waiting for permission, because he's already lost in the idea of Kurt's hand on him, but when he figures it out he nods. It's probably kind of frantic, because now that he's not touching Kurt his body is crying out for its own pleasure.

Kurt's grin widens, and then he slips his hand down to cup Blaine's erection. "Oh," he says with some wonder as he gives a gentle squeeze. "I see what you mean."

"What?" Blaine asks hoarsely.

"Gay gay gay," Kurt repeats, and Blaine somehow finds the breath to laugh.

Kurt's less tentative than Blaine was to start, and Blaine feels his skin flush and prickle with the pleasure of it. Kurt's _touching him_.

"I want to - " he hears Kurt say through the buzzing in his ears.

Blaine manages to open his eyes. "Anything."

"Are you sure?" Kurt's fingers inch up to Blaine's fly, and Blaine nods. Kurt smiles, nervous but happy, and he fits his mouth to Blaine's for a swift kiss before opening Blaine's jeans and sliding his hand inside.

Then Kurt's fingers are touching his erection, wrapping around him, and Blaine makes a high, strangled sound that he doesn't even recognize as his own voice.

“Is that okay? Blaine?”

It feels amazing. It’s the best thing he’s ever felt in his life. Kurt’s hand is warm and soft, tentative but _there_ , touching him, moving gently, and there’s a buzzing in Blaine’s ears and a lurking, liquid heat in his belly, and he doesn’t know if he wants to laugh or cry, but all he knows is that it’s _fantastic_ and can never, ever end, so of course what he says is, “It’s weird.”

Kurt’s hand stills immediately, and he slips it free of Blaine’s jeans and pulls it back to his own stomach. “Weird?” he asks in a quiet, horrified voice.

“Oh, god,” Blaine says, also horrified, because he’s the biggest idiot in the world and should never have been let within a ten yard radius of someone as perfect as Kurt. “No, Kurt. It’s good. I swear. It’s just... No one else has ever - and, I mean, the angle is different when I’m - and your hands are so - and your _fingers_ \- and I just - it feels so - oh, god, you should just break up with me - “

“You want me to _break up with you_?” Kurt is staring at him like Blaine is speaking some foreign language, which he kind of is, because in a million years Blaine would never have thought that he’d tell Kurt to break up with him, especially not when he’s half-naked in Kurt’s bed and was exploring amazing new territory with him until about five seconds ago. Kurt also looks like in another five seconds he’s going to start crying or yelling or either combined with him moving off the bed, all of which are unthinkably awful.

“No. I’m just saying you _should_.”

“I - “ Kurt’s jaw clenches, and Blaine wants to _die_ for what he must be making him feel. “I am confused.”

"I know. I'm sorry. I'm such an idiot. I'm such an _idiot_."

"Why," Kurt asks very slowly, "are you an idiot?"

"Because I say stupid things when I'm not prepared, and I'm _not_ prepared for this. I'm ready, I'm really ready, but I'm so, so out of my depth here, Kurt. Everything about you is amazing, and I should be making this good for you, but I'm just _not_ \- "

Kurt stops him with a hard, determined kiss. When he's done, he pulls away only the few inches he needs to be able to focus and looks Blaine directly in the eye. "The only part of tonight that isn't good for me is you doubting just how good I think it is. Do you hear me?"

Blaine nods, and the gravity in Kurt's eyes lightens just a bit.

"And you have to stop calling my boyfriend an idiot."

Blaine nods again.

"Do you have any more objections to me going back to what I was doing?" Kurt asks.

Blaine shakes his head. "No."

"Good," Kurt says and kisses him softly. Then he slides his hand down Blaine's chest in a sensuous glide from his throat to his belly and lower to grip him again.

"No, no objections," Blaine manages to stammer, and then he temporarily loses the power of speech as Kurt's hand tightens and starts to move. The rhythm is entirely different from what he uses on himself, but it's _spectacular_. It's slow and steady, and it's _Kurt_. Blaine groans against Kurt's mouth, his breath hitching, and he's been so hard for so long now that he knows he won't last.

His hips begin to move of their own accord, and can feel Kurt's fingers getting slick from him. Kurt's _fingers_ , those are _Kurt's_ fingers. His hips jerk again, harder.

"You're amazing." Kurt's voice is low and full of awe, and Blaine opens his eyes to see Kurt watching Blaine's erection move through his fingers.

It's too much, or it nearly is, and Blaine wants him so _badly_.

"Can I? _Please_?" Blaine asks, his hand at the button of Kurt's fly. He _begs_ , if he's being honest with himself. He's going to come soon, he can feel it gathering in his thighs and the base of his spine, and he doesn't want to be doing it alone.

Kurt nods and stills his hand long enough that Blaine can open his jeans and slip his hand inside. There isn't much room to move, because Kurt's jeans are sinfully tight even when he's not hard, but Blaine's too eager to get to him to take the time to move aside more fabric. He's willing to sacrifice a little circulation to his fingers, especially when he feels Kurt hot and velvety soft against him. He's thick and long and _perfect_

"Oh, god. Oh, _god_ , Kurt." Blaine is suddenly glad for the discomfort of the denim against his wrist, because otherwise he's pretty sure he'd be coming right this second. He has a flash of pornographic divine inspiration that if he likes how much Kurt feels in his hand he’s going to _love_ how he feels in his _mouth_ whenever he gets the opportunity. But it's not going to be now, because there's a stiffness to Kurt's body that shows his nerves, and Blaine wants to kiss that all away. Also, Kurt's fingers are wrapped around him, and if he thinks he could move away from that he's insane.

Kurt whimpers when Blaine kisses him, and Kurt's own mouth is more eager than precise. He gets his free hand on Blaine's jaw and just _devours_ him, and Blaine clutches at Kurt's shoulder and _moves_. Their hands, their mouths, their hips, it's all a perfect circuit of pleasure, and when Blaine feels the buzz in his ears travel down his spine like a blaze of electricity through his body he moans and arches into it, pressing as close as he can to Kurt and letting himself go, thrusting and stroking, reaching, reaching, and then finally falling, knowing Kurt will catch him in the end.

"Oh - _Blaine_ ," Kurt pushes hard into Blaine's hand and chokes back his own cry as he throbs and spills hot over Blaine's fingers.

Blaine's body thrums with thick, hazy pleasure, and he isn't sure how long it takes for it to it to reach a level where he can control his muscles enough for him to move. When he opens his eyes, Kurt is on his back beside him, watching his face.

"I love you," Blaine says, because even if he's not sure what day it is he knows that's what he should say.

The smile that lights up Kurt's face is proof enough that it was the right thing. "I love you, too," he says and tilts his head so that their temples are touching.

"I'd really like to hug you, but it's going to take me a minute to figure out where my arms are," Blaine tells him, and Kurt laughs.

"As long as you find them eventually," Kurt says. "I like your arms. I like all of you."

"So that was okay?" Blaine asks.

Kurt rolls his eyes. "Really, Blaine. What kind of question is that?"

"A serious one."

"Oh." Kurt smiles at him again, this time more softly. "Then, yes. Apart from one particular moment, which I'm willing to overlook, it was wonderful. Was it okay for you?"

"I thought so," Blaine says, "but now I'm worried."

Kurt rolls onto his side with a sigh and slips his arm across Blaine's chest, tucking his head into Blaine's shoulder. “I put my hand in your pants, and you told me you wanted to break up.”

“I didn’t say I _wanted_ to break up,” Blaine protests.

“Now is really not the time for semantics.”

"I'm sorry."

Kurt kisses his shoulder. "Don't be ridiculous," he says, quite seriously. "You don't have to be perfect, Blaine. You just have to be mine." It's the best thing anyone has ever said to him, because as much as he wants to be perfect, he just isn't. He is, however, nobody's but Kurt's.

"I am," Blaine tells him. He tips Kurt's chin up so that he can look into his eyes. "Yours. I am."

"I know," Kurt says, and then his mouth twitches into a grin. "And even though you don't have to apologize, if you want to make it up to me you can go get a towel. I hadn't anticipated how messy we were going to get. We'll have to do laundry."

"Do I have to go right now?" Blaine asks, because he will, but the last thing he wants to do is not be with Kurt. He needs to be with him, now more than ever.

"No." Kurt leans up and kisses him, and somehow the simple press of their lips means more than it did even an hour ago. Blaine holds him close and breathes him in. "Not yet. We have all night."


End file.
